


Hello, My Old Heart

by moonstruckpioneer



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Afterlife, Fluff and Angst, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckpioneer/pseuds/moonstruckpioneer
Summary: Annie's officially crossed into the afterlife, but the reunion didn't go as expected. She left Bristol behind to find herself. She's back now, but not sure what she will find.
Relationships: John Mitchell/Annie Sawyer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Hello, My Old Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So here is this little story I promised. I’m not a writer, so please be kind if you choose to read. Context: This is after Annie crosses over into the afterlife. I like to think that the group's reunion didn't turn out so great because they've got baggage for days. Also, I imagine the afterlife is just a more perfect version of the world we already inhabit. Sorry, no George or Nina.

My dusty-rose-sleeved knuckle hovers in front of the familiar dark green door. Come on, Annie... just do _it_! The pep talks hadn’t been working for the last five minutes. Just _knock_.

_One, beat, two beats, three beats. Nothing._

With a frustrated huff, I sit down on the stoop, my hands covering my mortified face. I’ve been away for seven months, how am I just going to show up unannounced? Especially after all the awful words I slung at him before I left. Oh god, what a mess.

_“Mitchell, I’m not mad **because** you killed 20 people. I’m mad because you **decided** to kill 20 people. It wasn’t uncontrollable addiction; it was anger at being betrayed that you took out on **innocent** people,” Her arms flailed in the air as if to coax Mitchell’s understanding to the surface. “And how am I supposed to trust you? You lied to me for months. “Also,” She spluttered getting more heated by the second, “even when you wanted me, you barely acted interested in me. Honestly, I felt more like an afterthought most of the time.” She had run out of patience with him, “I’m done giving 150% to make up for others giving absolutely nothing. I’m leaving—don’t follow me.” _

I can’t say I regret the words or the leaving, but maybe staying away for 7 months without so much as a text sent his way is what is keeping me from knocking. How would I even go about explaining…”Sorry, I left for seven months I just needed to figure out who I am without all of our baggage,” wasn’t exactly an apology or even an olive branch.

Ok, ok, I’m leaving, turning back.

To go where Annie? You don’t have a home anymore; you gave it up to come back here; to be a part of this group again. Decision making was never a strength of mine. Why can’t he just open the door and run straight into me—no decision required.

And then there was rain. I silently curse the skies as my mother’s classic aphorism echoes in my head, “One should always dress for rain or a romantic rendezvous”. Well mother, I chose romance over rain today and it really bit me in the arse. The dusty rose sweater dress to accentuate my curves, the sheer tights to keep my legs a fraction warmer in the chilly April air, and the knee-high, suede cognac boots to add glamour and sophistication. At least that’s what I thought this morning, when there wasn’t a rain cloud in sight.

It was now or never, thanks to the rain. Bucking up my courage I stand and rap more confidently on the door than I feel on the inside. Thirty seconds pass without even a shuffling from behind the door. I knock twice more fervently. Still nothing. “Mitchell…Mitchell, it’s Annie” my voice starts to trail off as the rain increases its deluge. The raindrops making their own argument for giving up on this idiotic notion.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I mutter under my breath. My forehead leans to rest on my fist against the now slick front door. I give up; he doesn’t want to see me. I should’ve known.

“’Lookin’ for me?” A strained Irish brogue comes calling from over the cacophony of rain and passing cars.

My head whips around sending my braids cutting through the downpour.

Mitchell moves closer to me. Peering through the rain, emotion distorts his features in a million ways. “Annie?” His voice now strained for a different reason. I remember how different I look to the grey ghost that probably haunts him.

“Surprise?” my hands come up to feign nonchalance and half-hearted excitement—as ever the visual conversationalist.

“What’re you doin’ here?” seems to be the only coherent question he can utter.

“That’s a long story,” sighing I throw a thumb over my shoulder, “can we go inside? Not exactly the best weather for story-telling.”

“Sorry,” Mitchell fumbles with the keys in his hand and squeezes past me to unlock the door. Both of our breaths catch at being this close for the first time in months. The moment seems to catch just like our breaths. Neither one of us breaking the delicate moment of simple connection. But I can’t hold back what I’ve just realized.

“Your hair!” My eyes bug out at the fact that it took me this long to realize his hair is now loosely brushing his ears instead of his shoulders.

“ _Your_ hair,” Mitchell mimics hollowly. My now dripping-wet box braids in a half up style neatly pulled into a bun.

I was about to comment on our changes, but Mitchell quickly sweeps an arm out to usher me into the house. I am cold and wet enough to quickly oblige. Stepping into the foyer, I feel that sickening nostalgia slip under my skin. The love and hate I have for this house runs deep and purple through my veins. A shiver escapes me. Moving into the sitting room, I set my mind to clearing out the fireplace of its clutter and lighting a fire without moving a finger.

A startled Mitchell trailing behind me, “Um, how’d ya do that?”

“It’s easy, pretty much like rent-a-ghosting, except with things. Everything here is…squishy” I crinkled my nose thinking back to when he used that word to describe me. I make my way over to the fireplace and take off my boots to set by the fire and dry. Next, I peel off my soaking tights, taking my time not wanting to start the conversation.

“Did you just swing by to strip in front of me?” Mitchell now sat on the worn-leather couch with a half-smirk, but slightly agitated tone of voice. Hair dripping with rain.

The agitation stings, but I deserve it. I didn’t do the “Annie” thing seven months ago; I didn’t stay to work on our issues—I ran. I don’t regret it though: I learned who I was before him, before Owen, before the boyfriends before them. I needed to unravel the knots in my brain and follow them back to my heart. I needed to tend to my wounds and find the ones that weren’t healing.

I keep my eyes away from his as I stop fiddling with my wet clothes. “I came back because I’m better now—happy. I discovered a lot while I was away. I spent a month by myself painting, writing, talking to myself,” my nervousness starts to creep in, and I fiddle with my rings. “After isolating myself, I went to America.” I let out an extended sigh not wanting to get to this part, “I fell in love with someone, a really great person actually. He was everything I wanted.”

“So, you came back to tell me it’s over for good?” he interjected sullenly. His knee now bouncing with anxiety.

“No, no, not at all. But I did need to tell you that part because it’s important.” The distance between us helping me make these declarations. “I fell in love with him and _was_ in love with him for five months.” Memories of the golden California sun, bronze skin, and lazy kisses swim through my brain. “I felt safe with him,” his strong arms were always wrapped around me. “He never shied away from showing and telling me he loved me.” A breath wrestles its way out of me and comes out in a shutter. “I desperately needed that quality in a relationship because I’ve never had it before, Mitchell,” I take him in slowly and deliberately; my voice raw with longing. I turn back to the fire to warm my now clammy hands.

“One morning, I woke up next to him and realized that even though he checked all the boxes and I _did_ love him, I wasn’t _in_ love with him. It was so hard leaving him; I thought I was walking away because I was scared, but I wasn’t.” The words rushed out of me, the weight leaving my body and dissipating in the air. 

“I went traveling to all the places I had wanted to go before I died, but I finished my bucket list and had to just stop and be for a while,” the stillness in the air mirroring how I spent the last month.

“This past month gave me everything I needed to come here and tell you that I’m ready to be back with my friends.”

_One beat, two beats, three beats. Silence._

“That is if you all still want me,” my voice gently pleading. “I know we’ve all hurt each other, and I didn’t make things better by running away, but I do want to try again. What we went through was awful, but I wouldn’t have wanted to go through it with anyone else.” I stop talking to gauge Mitchell’s reaction, but he’s as stone-faced as ever with his furrowed brows not helping matters. His arms crossed in front of his chest—ever on defense. I want to go over to him and do my best “Annie” and take all the worry away, but I won’t because I can’t make this decision for him.

“So what do you say? Are you looking for a flat mate?” I throw out to cut some of the tension.

Mitchell slowly stood up from the couch and tossed his leather jacket to the side. His steps measured to leave him just out of arm’s reach.

“I’m not looking for a flat mate, Annie,” His voice low and guarded.

I nod my head in understanding. I knew it was too much to expect all at once.

“That’s ok, I can find somewhere else to live,” my words come out in a blur, failing at sounding unscathed by his words. I step to the side in an attempt to leave, not wanting to prolong the pain, but he mirrors my sidestep.

_One beat, two beats, three beats. Silence._

“Annie, why weren’t you in love with him if he was everything you wanted?” Mitchell’s inquiry sending me straight into a hurricane of hope. His voice the kind of soft that has my heart racing and my knees melting.

“If someone’s already met all of your expectations, what’s there to discover? To grow with? To be surprised by?” I admit in a hushed tone. My eyes scanning his face—less stone-faced.

“I also discovered that the things I want now are no longer the same as they were when I was 15.”

“What about me? Do I fit your new checklist?” his question surprising me with its vulnerability.

My hand instinctively closing the gap between us to caress his face. “I think I’m through with checklists. I’m relearning how to enjoy what’s right in front of me instead of what I think it should be.” His eyes shutter close and lean into my cupped hand as my answer and touch give him some respite from the long months of uncertainty.

There’s a long pause. I’m trying to will my eyes to say the things I won’t.

_Ask me the question._

_Ask me the question._

_Please, ask me the question._

_You know you want to._

“Are you still in love with me, Annie?” The crack in his voice makes my heart come to a complete stop.

“Yes,” I somehow manage on an inhale while blinking back tears. “But, I need to know if you actually want me, Mitchell,” My voice cracks with sincerity and past heartbreak. “Not just emotionally, but physically.” I take a deep breath in to further explain, “You really hurt me, Mitchell. You never acted like you wanted me. It’s stupid and vain, but I need to be wanted in that way. I can’t be in a half-relationship anymore. I want the whole bloody thing!”

We’re now both in tears. Please, say yes, Mitchell.

“Annie, I want you in every possible way every day for the rest of our eternity,” he gasps out in between sobs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you before, my love. I wanted to, I hope you know that, but I couldn’t let myself knowing all I was hiding from you. I did have some moral boundaries,” he laughed at his flimsy, haphazard morals.

I start wiping away his tears, but fresh ones fall in their place. Then, suddenly, the spark ignites between us. I can feel the energy shift once more, as clear and forceful as the shift in weather earlier today. His hungry lips are on mine revealing the passion that had been hidden. My lips and hands rush to catch up.

The feeling is extraordinary. No more dead bodies, no more hiding, just honesty.

My hands tug and tangle in his hair causing a low moan to escape from him. Mitchell responds by lifting me up and wrapping my legs around him. His hands instinctively wind their way under my dress and cup my ass.

I break the kiss, which has Mitchell second-guessing his actions. I quickly cover his parted lips with my fingertips, “I want you right now, I can’t wait any longer,” I whisper as I grind into him to drive my point home and it’s as if I lit a fire under his feet. His eyes darken with desire as he quickly turns and climbs the stairs gracefully like he has been carrying me his whole life.

We reach his room in record time, and I’m on his bed taking in the unchanged, messy bedroom from our past. I stare up at his form as he takes his shirt off. I twist with anticipation and know I’m causing the same feelings in him.

He’s suddenly naked in front of me while I’m paralyzed with lust. I start to remember that I’m still fully dressed and somehow feel embarrassed by that fact. This is all making me feel like a shy schoolgirl’s first time. My hands go to the hem of my dress, but his hands cover mine before I can move it even a millimeter.

“Let me,” his honey-thick voice washes over me. I nod and concede.

His rough hands become gentle as he peels the dress off of me and his eyes grow with every inch of newly exposed skin until I’m down to my bra and panties.

He takes his time though, choosing to savor every inch of my skin before removing those remaining pieces of fabric.

At last, we’re both equal in our nakedness. He’s hovering above me and I’m steeling myself for _the moment_ , when he starts kissing his way down my throat, chest, and stomach. Mitchell’s stubbly face is now resolutely buried in the most intimate of places.

“Mitchell,” I gasp, “You don’t have to...” I yield to his fiery eyes.

“It’s been over a year for me, Annie. I’m not gonna last long.”

His honesty so rare and true, I can’t put up a fight and give into the pleasure he wants for me. Every second now a glorious blaze until my whole body is on fire, and the only word I know is his name. My body loses its connection to world and I float somewhere between our love. I’m still untethered when he makes his way back above me. I can feel him ready for me, something I’ve longed to feel since our first kiss. Our bodies connect in a moment of unexplainable bliss and I’m finally able to take the first breath of the rest of my life.

**Author's Note:**

> This little story is just one piece of a very large, mini-series-worthy idea that I would only release to the public if BBC paid me for it.


End file.
